With Eyes Open
by Jananda Sarne
Summary: Sequel to Deceptions and Disguises. Will Dafydd return, and will he be welcomed when he does?
1. Chapter 1

1.Wedding

"So what's the verdict?"

"Not too bad, almost tasteful," replied Dafydd brightly, "well, except for the twins but that really goes without saying."

"I'll get them back when it's their turns," vowed Ron, slightly more seriously than was warranted, "Fred's really ticklish if you know the right spot!"

Dafydd laughed and put the finishing touches to his own contribution. He animated the woad image and Ron wriggled as the blue dragon circled around over his skin. Fred was not the only red head who was ticklish. Dafydd handed his best friend his wedding tunic and then allowed him to remove his blindfold once the woad good luck images were covered up.

"Can't you do something about that?" pleaded Ron, wriggling even more violently. "I won't be able to keep still for the ceremony if this keeps up."

"I expect he's just a bit frisky," replied Dafydd. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll settle down before long, after all as Hagrid says, a beast is a piece of cake if you know how to calm him."

Ron glared. Dafydd smiled sweetly; the animation was having the desired effect and diverting Ron away from his pre-wedding jitters.

They were still a few minutes shy of eleven o'clock and so Dafydd put up some wards against their being overheard and they took their chance at a proper conversation.

"So where've you dumped the kid?" asked Ron looking hard at Dafydd's voluminous formal robes.

"You think I'd bring him here?" replied Dafydd incredulously. "Like nobody'd notice if I just turned up with a baby. The boy's in the Village being doted on by his cousins. Bit tiresome their custom of not naming a kid until he survives the wanding aged seven – I don't like just calling him 'boy,'"

"I thought you called him Kitiana," replied Ron puzzled.

"Kitiana means 'boy,' you shout 'kitiana' in the Village and you'd get all the male children within earshot looking up."

"Listen mate," said Ron urgently as the clock got nearer to the auspicious hour, "I know we're not to ask about why you left or you'll leave completely – emotional blackmail I'd call that, but that's by the by – but will you say how long you're going to be gone for?"

"I can't return until certain events happen – and no, I can't tell you what they are without…" Ron nodded in understanding. When Dafydd had contacted the other members of the Gryffindor quartet he had made it quite clear that he had left to prevent certain events, but telling them what they were would bring such actions about. He had made it a non-negotiable condition of keeping in contact that they not try to find out why he left and make the whole precaution pointless. "I may never be able to return," continued Dafydd a bit wistfully, "and now I have other priorities anyway. I think my kitiana needs to be brought up away from the British wizarding world, at least until he's eleven."

"You're not going to tell him about magic? Surely after what the Dursleys-"

"Be hard not to with living in the Village with Gritani and his kin, but I meant more that I want him to make his own conclusions about the wizarding world over here. He will wield a lot of power when he's older and I don't want him to be indoctrinated. Maybe a muggle education would be a good idea too… Anyway, we'd better get down to the ceremony. Wouldn't do for Hermione to get there first!"

The wedding of Ron and Hermione was a small affair compared to Dafydd's own a couple of years previously, but they were surrounded by friends and family in a way he could never be. Hermione's non-magic-aware relatives had been told that the couple were having a simple registry office ceremony, but then the party would be the main event. The reception was going to be purely muggle and many pairs of hands were clenching in the prayer that Arthur Weasley would not show himself up as too eccentric by asking too many questions about muggle technologies.

Dafydd came into close contact with Sirius and Remus, he even danced with Remus. He had spent a long time building up his occlumancy walls and was confident that Remus would not work out that he was not the metamorphmagus in disguise that Sirius had arranged to keep up the fiction of a rift-free Crimson House.

He got away with the deception, almost. It was so near. Dafydd's face was a picture as Sirius yanked the wooden ring off his finger and apparated the pair of them away to Lions' Den. It had been done discretely, and Dafydd doubted that the muggles had noticed a thing, but the temporary defeat still rankled. It would be temporary, Dafydd was certain of that, after all Sirius did not know what was inside the ring which Dafydd used to focus his magic. There was a plentiful supply of such material, assuming his captors were not about to shave Dafydd's head. Sirius was unlikely to be very au fait with the biblical story of Samson. Besides, Dafydd had hidden allies who would help expedite his escape.

It was not Lions' Den, but Grimauld Place that the pair rematerialised in. Sirius, Remus and Severus had been planning this abduction for months, correctly guessing that Dafydd would not pass up on attending his best friends' wedding. They were unsure who had the higher authority over Simba and Leon, the house elves at Lions' Den, and so had decided against taking Dafydd back there. He also might well know it better than they did and escape before answering their questions. The wooden ring had been a bonus. Remus had explained that Dafydd had stopped wearing it, but then it had been there on his finger and in plain sight too. Sirius petrified Dafydd. "Sorry about this," he said cheerfully, "but I'm taking no chances now that I've got my hands on you." He levitated Dafydd through the house to the sitting room and tied him securely to the same chair he had sat in when last Severus and Sirius had interrogated him about his actions.

Dafydd's eyes were the only part of him which he could move, and so he looked curiously around his current prison. Nothing much had changed. Sirius drew up another chair and sat staring sadly into Dafydd's eyes in the hope of softening his resolve. Dafydd was doing some quick thinking. He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway and easily recognised his father's gait. The old equation of potions master equals danger rose in his consciousness and he hoped that his theory about veritaserum was true. Well, nobody would be pleased with the outcome if they did get the truth out of him.

Severus did indeed bring in several potion phials, they clinked menacingly within his robes, but he simply sat down in a chair and followed Sirius's lead.

Remus came in leaning slightly on a stick now that he was out of the public eye, and also sat down in Dafydd's field of vision. The three wizards stared at the zia for a long time.

"Explain," commanded Severus at length. Dafydd responded with as withering a look as he could, given that he was immobilised.

"Oh," said Sirius sheepishly in sudden understanding and he waved his wand at Dafydd releasing the body bind spell. Dafydd was still tied to his seat and so could not move far, but he could now talk.

"Explain," repeated Severus neutrally.

"Dafydd Owens, Dragonmaster, 97003," replied Dafydd mechanically. Name, rank and serial number that was all they were going to get.

"Explain why you left," Severus asked again, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

"Dafydd Owens, Dragonmaster, 97003."

"Did you leave of your own accord?" asked Severus.

"Dafydd Owens, Dragonmaster, 97003." The reply was the same. Dafydd tuned out the questions and just kept repeating the same phrase. Severus tried asking him what day of the week it was, if his name was Dafydd Owens, all sorts of questions with automatic and innocuous answers but Dafydd refused to be drawn into any kind of conversation and simply continued to use his shadow dragon training for keeping information intact through an interrogation. After an hour or so, much longer than Dafydd had expected them to have the patience to keep hearing the same answer, his captors gave up and moved onto plan B – potions.

Severus drew out a small phial of veritaserum. He opened it carefully and wafted it under Dafydd's nose for him to identify. Dafydd shivered involuntarily as the scent pervaded his nostrils.

Severus saw the moment of weakness. "This is your last chance," he said. "We are willing to listen to your side of the story, but just give us some indication that you'll try to explain why you left. It's the not knowing that is so hard." He looked beseechingly into Dafydd's eyes, pleading and begging in a way he would never vocalise. Dafydd looked beyond him towards Remus and his resolve hardened.

"Dafydd Owens, Dragonmaster, 97003," was the only reply he gave.

Severus caught on to his chance and dropped three drops of the potion into his son's mouth as he spoke the hated statement. Severus had a feeling of déjà vu, but he hoped that this time Dafydd would not be poisoned by the potion his father forced upon him. It was just as he let the last part of the dose fall that Severus located his nagging doubt. Dafydd had been given veritaserum as a minor before his fixed trial. He made some quick calculations. Dafydd would have been fourteen, on the cusp of the danger zone, but he had been very small for his age… Severus had a horrible thought that he knew where this was heading. His suspicions were soon confirmed.

"Start with something simple," he told Sirius.

"Start with something simple," mimicked Dafydd monotonously.

"I'm fed up with these games," said Sirius in mock fury. "Just tell us why you left."

"I'm fed up with these games," repeated Dafydd unemotionally. "Just tell us-"

Severus spoke up over the noise. "He can't help it," he said wearily, "It's the veritaserum he was given before, he was too young and it's stayed in his system – so this is like a mild overdose.

"…was given before…" repeated Dafydd.

"We won't get any sense out of him for the next 12 maybe 24 hours," declared Severus, extremely annoyed with himself. "Then we can try again but with a lower dose.

"Best put him to bed then I suppose," said Sirius. "This is so frustrating…"

"We've waited this long for answers, we can wait another day," said Remus, as ever the voice of reason.

Somehow keeping watch on Dafydd overnight seemed unimportant since he was unlikely to get his reason back any time soon, and even if he did he could not get out of the house with the antiappariation wards up. So Sirius was pleased to find no resistance to just locking him in one of the many bedrooms, without a watcher.

The next morning they realised their folly. On entering the room Remus found that Dafydd was gone. He had left them a note. It simply read:

"How did you think I got out of Azkaban? No wooden rings lying around there for the taking!"

Dafydd materialised in the heart of the Brazilian rainforest shortly before sunrise. He fiddled with the piece of hair he had wound around his finger. He'd have to make another ring, but he could easily loose the hair to make it. He pressed on towards the Village; with luck he would be there before Ron and Hermione arrived on their honeymoon. Now if he could just stop repeating the mating calls of the local fauna he could put the whole incident behind him.

Author's Note:

Usual disclaimer - it's on a fanfiction website go figure. I don't own the characters, I'm just having a bit of fun with them.

Sorry this has taken so long to come out - I like to have it almost finished before posting since I don't write linearly. I got a bit fed up with it but I've stuck with it to give some kind of completion to D and D.


	2. 2 Funeral

1.Funeral 

"Fred!" The excited high pitched scream heralded the tumbling footsteps of black skinned toddler. The boy sped into the wizarding reception as fast as his restrictive muggle clothing would grudgingly allow him to. Elite heads turned as the stewards jerked out of their astonished stupor and leapt to intercept the intruder.

The boy was not to be diverted. His attention was fixed dead ahead on his target as he expertly dodged between the forest of adult legs. He moved with the urgency of one who knows his flight of freedom is fleeting.

Albus Dumbledore allowed himself the luxury of a brief moment to savour the comedy of the spectacle before moving gracefully to intercept the human cannonball. The boy seemed completely non-plussed when a bespectacled, wrinkled, bearded face appeared at his eye-level. He paused for a split second to look his interlocutor in the eyes before dodging to the side to continue his quest. The delay was his undoing.

There was no question as to whom the child was; there had been only one toddler present at the funeral and his attendance had caused much remark. The palace had seen it as a public relations coup to have a photogenic ethnic minority child involved in the memorial for the nation's 'beloved grandmother,' a.k.a the Queen Mother. Sir Dafydd had been reluctant to attend the funeral, let alone bring his young son with him and make a sentimental tribute, but pressure had been brought to bear and the result pleased all the tabloids and glossies. The father had dutifully read out the speech he was presented with, alluding familiarly to the time he spent with the departed royal while painting what was to become her final portrait. The son had escaped his seat and run up, precisely on cue, to join in and add his own babyish tribute in Welsh. What more could a press secretary ask for? The artist had even been persuaded, in the interests of health and safety, to abandon his habitual walking stick in favour of a wheel chair. That meant the ethnic, Welsh, disabled and single parents were all represented in one package; all highly convenient and very politically correct (not that politics had been a motivating factor anyone would admit to).

Albus clasped the boy by the wrist as he tried to press on through the crowd. His captive was not pleased and glared at the old man before wriggling forward. To his immense surprise, Albus found his grip slipping; he was being pulled along, seemingly effortlessly, by the tiny person beside him. This was no muggle child for certain. Retirement was almost upon him, and Albus had no pressing need to hobnob with the politicians in attendance. The puzzle that chance had thrown his way looked far more interesting. He swooped down on the intruder and swept him off the ground.

"Please put me down," the boy demanded politely in Welsh, looking Albus straight in the eyes.

"We must go and find your father," replied Albus equally firmly as he set the boy back on the ground. The boy glared at Albus for a few moments but then admitted to himself that he had met his match and had better comply. The onlookers were unsurprised to see that the Hogwarts headmaster had complete control of the situation within seconds of intervening. He walked out of the room, leading the author of the interruption securely by the hand. The politicians returned to their networking, and the stewards heaved a sigh of relief and magic once more filled the air.

Albus chatted amiably as he led the boy towards the muggle reception rooms. He was now convinced that he was dealing with a child, an elder metamorphmagus would have weighed more, but that meant an exceptionally magical child. The question of Sir Dafydd Owens' identity was once again raised. The boy, whose name Albus vaguely remembered as 'Isaac,' could well be muggleborn, but it was far more likely that he had some magical heritage. Were Sir Dafydd magical, it would suggest that he could be the David Owens that Albus was seeking, but the very thing which suggested he was magical, was also an impossibility were he to be Lord Crimson. A zia was a biological nonsense made possible only through the magic of the soul mate bond. The Crimson Lord could not have had a child without the involvement of his spouse… Albus stopped dead in his thoughts and shivered mentally… at least he hoped that was the case, the alternative did not bear thinking, how much did one man have to endure at the hands of a single dark wizard? So much for the hope that the 'sleeping children' were nothing more than propaganda.

Albus delivered his charge and returned to his own people deep in thought. Sir Dafydd had been politely grateful for his assistance and had courteously acknowledged their earlier acquaintance. There was no time for more than a cursory conversation before the meal was announced and Albus made himself scarce before the muggle serving staff could become concerned that he was not on their list of guests. He excused himself as soon as was decent from the wake and by the time he reached his own office back at Hogwarts the carefully worded letter had come together in his mind. All it took was a wave of his wand to set ink to parchment and the missive was ready. Fawkes appeared on cue and took charge of delivery. Albus knew whom he was writing to, but not precisely where said person was located. Sending an owl in the general direction of the Amazonian rainforest was a bit of a liberty; Fawkes would be better able to find his destination.

Albus received a reply by return of phoenix. He opened the folded leaves with some trepidation; zias were difficult people to predict, foreign ones all the more so. As it was, the tone of the reply was friendly:

"Dear Professor Dumbledore," it began in clear English writing somewhat at odds with the ancient leaf and coloured bark parchment and vegetable ink substitute that was being used.

"The child of whom you write is my grandson. The forest has yet to name him, but his father is not of the village and has given him the designation 'Isaac' as far as the British register of births is concerned."

"The child has great affinity for magic and steps are being taken to help him control his talent. He is learning wizardry with the rest of my children. His father is very keen that his power is tempered with compassion and I believe the end result will be a balanced force for good within our world which is sorely needed. It is a weighty undertaking to raise any child and the boy's talents make his formative years all the more important.

"I feel you are eager to know more of our plans for his education. In the normal course of events my children learn their craft within the village and then those who are so inclined take up apprenticeships with Guild Masters. Dafydd's son is different, not being fully of the village, and so it is possible he will follow a different path. I believe Dafydd is under great pressure to return to the British Isles, and in truth the climate here is not particularly conducive to either his work, or his health. I suspect that were he to return to his homeland, his son would leave with him and would then become a prospective candidate for your school.

"I believe the boy's future is in good hands and I thank you for the concern you have shown for the wellbeing of my house.

"May your river flow smoothly,"

"Gritani

"Lord Gri"

Albus scanned the letter quickly, decided it was honest, open and friendly and possibly an opening for more to follow. He would keen a distant eye on young Isaac, a more attentive one than he had kept on his last powerful charge. In a way, though he hated to admit it, he was relieved that it did not fall to him to arrange the care of this future zia. He had failed the last one and had no wish for history to repeat itself. A muggle father, there were no records of how that would affect the genetic mix within the zia reproductive magic, but obviously the Gri House had been fortunate in its sons. The boy was unnamed and as yet unacknowledged as a Gri zia, but with a child as magically in tune as him, waiting for his seventh summer was really a formality; he was almost certain to survive.

He placed his memories of the boy into his pensive and swirled the thoughts randomly to see what popped up as important. The child's first words in that crowded room echoed dimly out of the bowl. "Fred!" Albus swirled the memories again searching for other references to 'Fred.' Numerous images of a pair of indistinguishable red-headed twins standing in his office awaiting the outcome of their transgressions, flashed in and out of view. There were so many of them that it was almost impossible to find any other references. Albus did not rule out the possibility that Fred Weasley had been present, he had learnt from experience not to rule out anything with reference to that pair, or Harry Potter later Lord Crimson. Finding out that they were cousins had explained a lot! Albus was brought sharply out of his reverie by a different voice echoing up "…he was offered a Wilfred's Choice…" an image of Remus Owens was saying, sat in the same office several years before. Albus had his second horrible thought of the day, could a child that young and that innocent already know Wilfred? He banished the pensive swiftly into the cupboard. He did not want to speculate any more, the ignorant were supposed to be happy and Albus, for once in his long life, felt his curiosity and drive for knowledge subside and a cloud of comforting ignorance descend. He could be wrong, he could be wrong about all of it. Lord Crimson might just be on an extended retreat at a monastery rather than the unwilling bearer of his nemesis's child. Isaac could be a young child who was bribed to run through the reception and cause a stir (or diversion?), that he was also a talented zia was merely a coincidence.

Albus sat with his head buried in his hands. He knew the truth was probably somewhere in the middle, but he dreaded which extreme it tended to. His retirement was definitely overdue, this stress and worry was a young person's game. Beekeeping was what he wanted.


	3. 3 Passing on the Torch

on the Torch

So I take it we are all agreed? asked the Minister. There is no need to inform my successor of the sleeping children situation. It is a matter purely for the attention of the aurors and if it becomes necessary, the Shadow Dragons. Dearest Dolores need not be troubled with such minutia.

There was a general murmur of consent and the gathered witches and wizards gathered up their pieces of parchment and started to leave the office of the outgoing Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.

Arthur Weasley, head of the Department for Muggle Relations, walked slowly back to his office. He had not voted for Rufus after Cornelius Fudge s resignation over a decade previously, but Arthur had appreciated the direction his administration had taken. The creation of the Department for Muggle Relations had been long over due. Rufus had pushed for it against stiff opposition from the more conservative, bigoted Arthur called them, members of wizarding Britain.

Arthur could not quite comprehend how Dolores Umbridge had come to be the minister-elect. It was as if he had woken up one morning to find that the world had gone mad. With everything she had done, even if she had wriggled out of the criminal charges each time, it seemed impossible that the toad could become the leader of the British wizarding world. The impossible had happened. The Titanic had struck the iceberg and Arthur felt very much as if he was playing in a string ensemble as the deck beneath him sank below the waves. If the toad found out about the sleeping children martial law was almost certain. They might not even exist. Yes if they did, they had to be found before Voldemort s legacy reached out from beyond the veil to once again threaten the wizarding world. But a power crazed toad would never end martial law once she had tasted the personal benefits it could bring. Could a windswept and aging violinist prevent the destruction of all on board?

Molly, he said sadly to his wife as they prepared for bed later that night. What do we do now?

What we can. Arthur, we do what we can.

Dafydd awoke from his siesta with a start to find himself materialising a foot or so above the ground deep in the rainforest. He picked himself up off the ground and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was about a mile away from the village. All other observations were stopped as he saw the bleeding form of his six year old son. Standing over the prone boy was a large animal. Dafydd came to the terrible realisation that it was a werewolf; worse still, a familiar werewolf.

Without hesitation, Dafydd stunned the attacker and rushed to his son s side. The left side of the boy s face was covered in blood. As yet he could not determine whether he had been bitten or just deeply scratched by the werewolf s claws.

The lack of moonlight appeared to be finally having an effect on the werewolf and he began to change into the expected human. Dafydd was thinking fast. He did not know how Remus had ended up half way around the world (it must be night time in Britain), but he suspected that the boy had something to do with it. He must have force apparated both his parents to him. With a feeling of energy such as he had not had for years, Dafydd decided that the first thing to do was to check his son would survive. Dafydd knelt down beside his son and began to core heal him. A red glow appeared around Dafydd s hands and his son s head cleared of blood. The skin did not heal fully. A large scar was visible down the left side of the boy s face, running through his now blind left eye. Werewolf bites never fully heal.

Having taken care of the boy s immediate needs, Dafydd apparated with him to the village and left him in the care of his relatives, before returning to transport his estranged spouse back to Wales. Remus was wearing the wooden ring of Dafydd s which he had left behind when Severus, Sirius and Remus had tried to abduct him several years before. Dafydd was surprised by the sentiment; he had after all gone to great lengths to remove the wedding ring from his own hand.

Is there something you wish to tell me? The elder man asked of his companion as the younger wizard sipped his tea pensively while avoiding eye contact.

I am unsure what to do for the best, the drinker responded at length. I feel in need of advice, and yet to get it I must betray a confidence which could set in motion the very events I wish to avoid.

Perhaps it would help were I to start, offered his mentor gently. You have been in contact with David for some time, but I surmise that he has been abroad and you have not seen him frequently. He has asked you not to reveal his whereabouts and you have stood his friend and not spoken, despite the distress of his relatives. Now something has happened which has changed the situation.

The young teacher gazed at his ex-headmaster with a mixture of awe, annoyance and resignation. Does Severus know that ?

I do not believe so, responded Albus hiding a small smile behind his ample beard. Severus would be inclined to underestimate his new colleague. He would not suspect. The young man furrowed his brow in thought for a few minutes before elaborating on the situation.

Dafydd is returning to Britain.

I see, mused Albus thoughtfully picking up on the implications of the word. To Britain; but not to us?

He refuses; I cannot push the point lest he break contact with me too.

You sound resolved; what matter do you need advice on?

I am resolved. Dafydd is my friend and I will respect his wishes over those of his family. I visited him yesterday and now know more about his reasons for leaving and why he has now returned. He wants his son to attend a muggle primary school.

To Neville s surprise, Albus accepted this revelation without shock or disbelief. It was the most likely explanation, Albus commented sadly. And it does complicate matters. I wonder if you can shed some light on the meaning of David s latest communication with Remus. The Crimson Sire is at a loss as to what to make of his message; as is Severus, and as am I.

Neville looked doubtful. I was unaware that he had any intention of establishing contact with any of us, beyond what I drag out of him.

Albus withdrew a small slip of paper from an envelope on his desk. He handed it to Neville and watched closely as he read the ten words scribbled on it.

Page 66 looks like we re both equally gullible doesn t it! Neville muttered the words to himself as he pondered their meaning. Where was it found? I assume it wasn t posted?

No, it appeared on top of Remus s toast over breakfast three days ago. We think that the reference is most likely to be to this month s edition of Beastly Advances which was issued the same day. Unfortunately the page in question is the beginning of an article on the latest methods for raising flobberworms.

I would speculate that Dafydd expected his estranged family would easily understand his message or he would have been more explicit. Unfortunately I can t throw much light on the subject. What immediately springs to my mind with the word gullible are the circumstances surrounding Dafydd s pregnancy.

Yes, that was my thought too, agreed Albus looking every minute of his one hundred and sixty seven years. I think that the Fates, via a Wilfred Choice and prophesies alike, have a lot to answer for in David s life.

You re saying he chose ?

There was a second prophesy, only David himself can tell you what its contents were, but I m very much afraid Both teachers eyes drifted in memory of the artefact sent by the ministry a couple of years previously as they had grown used to seeing it; half hidden in a disregarded darkened corner of the new headmistress s office.

It may be of some consolation to his family; that he has good reason for staying away.

Minerva worked fitfully on the plans for the coming school year. Her gaze kept wavering towards the door of the headmaster's study. 'Headmaster's study,' she huffed silently suppressing a smile. In her head she still called it that even though it had been her office for almost half a year now. After half an hour she gave up her attempts at appearing to work, much to the amusement of the portraits on the walls, and busied herself with the tea tray instead. She was still attempting to practice feng-shi on the small boxes of muggle sweets she had purchased particularly for her eagerly awaited visitor when he finally arrived looking the quintessential wise grandfather. An image she knew he took great pains to cultivate. He also looked far healthier than anyone who had passed the one-fifty mark and spent the majority of the last year on his sick bed, had the right to do.

Pleasantries were exchanged and Albus settled himself comfortably into a favoured armchair. The two had been close for years although they had not seen each other for some time. Not since he had asked her, as what appeared to almost be a dying wish, to take over guardianship of Hogwarts. The request had been so unexpected, (it had been understood between them that Severus Antirrhinum would be the next headmaster), that Minerva had left before he could explain further, only giving him the most perfunctory of acknowledgements. They had not spoken since. Minerva had become acting headmistress in name, as she had been in action since Albus had first fallen ill at the Halloween feast. Albus had been moved to St Mungo's and Minerva had hidden behind the healer's orders that he not be troubled over any work related issues, and not visited.

Now the architect of her current situation sat patiently in front of Minerva awaiting her questions. He had sought out the meeting not her, but having agreed to it, Minerva had found herself thinking about nothing else, as the untidy pile of unanswered correspondence on her desk testified. Albus said nothing to his former pupil, former colleague, as conflicting emotions played across her usually guarded features. The pain he had caused her was evident, and he disregarded his instinct to take control of the situation. Instead Albus waited, patiently sipping his tea, for Minerva to marshal her thoughts and set the parameters of the encounter.

"Why?" The question escaped Minerva's lips almost involuntarily.

Albus appeared to age before her eyes. "Because I was selfish."

Minerva had been of the same opinion, but she was amazed that Albus had admitted it. It had obviously cost him a lot of soul searching to do so.

Minerva poured the tea and both professors took long sips. Their eyes met and a non verbal agreement was exchanged; they were friends again, each forgiving the other.

"So, what did I miss?" asked Albus leaning forward eagerly and forsaking the distance he had developed between himself and his friends. Had she been asked a few hours before Minerva would have assured any enquirer that everything was going fine and would not even have felt like she was lying, but somehow being invited to unburden herself by a renewed best friend made it all just flow out.

Albus listened patiently, but to her surprise did not offer her any advice.  
"So what do you think?" asked Minerva.

Albus calmly refilled his tea cup and said simply and without condescension. "I think you are truly Headmistress of Hogwarts."

Minerva glared at him. "I'd hardly be asking your advice if I knew what to do!" she snapped in mock anger.

"That is the time when one most needs to ask for advice," responded Albus solemnly as if passing on some highly prized piece of wisdom. Then he made a face and chuckled. "My portrait will offer you advice - in fact all the portraits in here will. I have retired from such matters "

Minerva scoffed in exaggerated disbelief.

" but it is traditional for an outgoing Headmaster to gift his successor with some particular tool He regarded her thoughtfully. This job is extremely demanding, he paused, you did not know me well before I took up the role of headmaster. You may recall seeing the rooms I inhabited as transfiguration master prior to leading the school? Minerva did indeed remember the peculiar black and white d cor of those rooms which subsequent members of staff avoided until sheer numbers had forced the enigmatic David to use them. The castle changes its familiar and tries to make up for the familiar s short comings. Lady Hogwarts believed that I lacked an appreciation of colours. Minerva glanced unconsciously across at the robes her friend was wearing. She did a double take; they were no longer that peculiar mix of bright colours that nobody else would be seen dead in. Albus Dumbledore was wearing a sombre ensemble of muted blues which balanced his bright eyes and white hair.

Albus laughed softly. I am rediscovering my sense of fashion I believe, he said humorously. It is but an illustration of how Lady Hogwarts can affect her guardians, her familiars. I believe you yourself have taken up a belated interest in divination since

Stop right there Albus! Minerva almost squeaked in embarrassment. Having become headmistress I felt it only fair that I treat all my professors equally and I felt that perhaps now was the time to re-evaluate my distaste for Sybill Trelawney and all related subjects.

Wash your mouth out woman! teased Albus mildly. Minerva paused and realised exactly what she had been saying.

Okay Albus, you ve made your point the castle is indeed changing me; and I think we both agree that such changes aren t always for the better. So was this just an observation or do you have a remedy in mind? The last few words were plainly laced with hope and desperation. 


End file.
